An Unlikely Guest
by Shadow Chevalier
Summary: A strange being comes into a peaceful town for reasons unknown. Who are they? What are they there for? Only one knows.


Among the far-reaching western hills of the Dinvar Empire, a small, peaceful town lays, illuminated by the flickering, summer lights from the hundreds of glowing fireflies that seemingly appeared out of thin air, blinking in and out of existence. Tamardale, it's called, a peaceful farming village comprised of thirty or so, expertly architected, wooden buildings, their eaves curved in fancy designs, each one different from the other. Surrounded on all sides, was an ocean of golden, shimmering fields of wheat, swaying in the warm, nightly breeze, wafting its intoxicating aroma to waft over the town's entirety, creating a halo around the town. The denizen's livelihood is seemingly limitless, as they export anything and everything to do with wheat, their crafted ale's the toast of the Empire.

Here, a peaceful coexistence of humans and dwarves make up the citizenship, sparse problems arising within the confines of this ostensibly harmonious paradise. However, on this night, an oddity occurred, a strange creature had come into town, entering the Tamardale's only pub, dubbed 'What Ale's you?' A silly title, the newcomer couldn't help but scoff at.

The inside was cleanly and homely, circular tables dotting the freshly swept floors, small, glass lanterns flickering as the centerpiece of each, casting a warm glow throughout the pub. Much like the outside, a fragrance of wheat pervades the interior but almost liquefied, a strange but alluring scent. Instantly, as the door opens, the very few pairs of eyes of the Human and Dwarvish patrons shift over to the foreigner, their complexions pale as this newbie glides to the bar.

These wary glances were always warranted and expected, for this arrival was beyond anything the denizens had dealt with before, for he was a Tiefling, and not just any ordinary-looking Tiefling. Unlike most of his kin, his skin was pitch as midnight, half-lidded eyes, a vivid, gleaming green, akin to the magic given off by pure witchcraft. Dark hair hung in and around his handsome, but hard to distinguish face, his horns coiled about his sharp ears. His clothes did little to detract from his horrifying, demonic visage.

He wore a hooded, leather cloak, shredded with time and use, the tails reminiscent of bat wings. Underneath, he wore a large round neck, wire netted shirt, the collar reaching up and around his chin, legs wrapped in light fitting, cloth trousers, tied together with a cloth belt. Both his arms and feet were encased in plated steel, dragon scale-shaped, clawed gauntlets and greaves, under protected by leather.

What cheerful, relaxed voices that once filled the pub, instantly evaporated, as this being silently took a seat at the half crescent bar curling outward from the massive barrels, tapped behind a Dwarvish man in his twilight years. Withered lips in a straight line, almost invisible through his salt and pepper, wiry beard, he but stares, as if this was the most bizarre thing he had seen in his entire life, which was probably accurate. Forehead creased with a patchwork of wrinkles, his rotund body stiffened as he attempted to speak, nothing breaking through, not even a breath.

The Tiefling paid the awkward exchange no mind, ignoring the heat from all the suspicious eyes that scorched his back and unfurling his spaded tail that was once wrapped around his waist. Like a serpent, he flicked it towards the single page menu already placed on the bar, causing the barkeep to flinch and wince as if he had been jabbed with a needle. What wasn't visible before, the bartender was now able to make out that this spaded tail was only half flesh, the other a sharp, dagger-like, glinting steel clasp that looked to now replace a piece that was once cut off. The metal tapped against the menu, lightly, without puncturing any holes into it, the sound freezing his innards. After a second, the dwarf finally peeked down, noting that it was pointing at their most prized selection, aptly named, 'Liquid Gold.'

Without a word between them, there was yet another silent stare down, the Tieflings indifferent expression unfazed. Abruptly, he reached under his cloak and procured a leather satchel, clattering with what could only be assumed was money. Opening it, he revealed his hoard of gold, peeking up, with a raised eyebrow. With the all understanding language of the coin, the invisible shackles that once held the dwarf into place, clinked loose and he instantly flit about. Grabbing a stein from under the counter, he nervously skid to the barrels and turns the half rusted knob, the liquid rushing loudly into the cup, until a thick, pale froth leaked over the lip of the cup.

Returning with a horribly strained smile, he placed the stein down and the Tiefling pulled out a single gold piece and slid it to him, shaking his tail when the dwarf offered the correct change. Gripping the stein in his hands, and with a stinging twinge of thirst in his throat, the Tiefling reared back, almost instantly downing the ale. It had an extremely robust, fresh flavor, with a hint of the wood of the barrel it had settled in. Tilting his head from side to side, he quickly and silently ordered another. Soon things returned to normal, now that everyone seemed to realize this newcomer was not there to incite trouble, the drone of voices on the rise yet again. However, it was not to last.

Suddenly, the front door of the pub was blasted open, the hinges screeching as it flopped, slamming against the wall, wood splintering, prompting all within the bar to nearly fall out of their chairs, save for the Tiefling who remained immovable. Standing outside the doorframe, a towering figure, no less than seven foot three entered, shadowed at first but slowly becoming visible in the light of the tavern.

Cascaded in full plate armor, embellished by gilded, gold additions, oiled and with an unmistakable sheen, glistening across the glossy metal, the giant sauntered inside. Their countenance was veiled under a massive, horned, and winged helm befitting a knight of some holy order. With each, intimidating, floor cracking stomp, they approached, quaking all the tables, tipping over chairs, steins, and unseating the remaining patrons until all were on the floors. A colossal, double sided, full moon axe was strapped to their broad back, unbelievably massive, by any logic, seemingly impossible for any one person to wield. Within their gauntleted hands, they clutched a horrible, black bow that screamed cursed and a dark hide quiver full of arrows.

A pungent hush overtook the pub yet again, everyone breathless as they but watched in awed horror, as the giant clomped up behind the Tiefling who had not moved an inch, despite the vehement entrance of the knight. Encompassing the Tiefling in the shadow cast by their magnanimous form, they halted, all-metal joints clinking into place. Tension blanketed the interior, and cold sweats broke out on every single forehead, save for, of course, the Tiefling.

Suddenly, a low, resoundingly deep rumble escaped from the knight's chest as they seemed to clear their throat, hollowed out by the metal helm, building and growing louder. Then, with a gravely, imposing voice of someone who gave the impression that they devoured boulders, growled maliciously, "Hello…Grimm."


End file.
